A Course of Grace and Havoc
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: After the events of Slash Fiction, Bobby opens his door to find only one Winchester brother. Spoilers, all season.


Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ is not mine. The title, because it just had to be, is from a Joni Mitchell song, _A __Strange__ Boy_. It's a very Dean song, and I highly suggest you go and find it and give it a listen. If you can ignore the few explicit romantic references, I also think it's very fitting of Dean and Bobby's relationship.

Anyway, Love me some Bobby&Dean father&son moments. Hope I managed to keep this in character. Dean is really complicated to write in emotional scenes, I think, because he is actually really affected by things, way more than Sam is. And he can be really damn self-pitying, if we're being honest. But at the same time... he's Dean. So it's a challenge. I also didn't want to make this straight-up just about Dean and Sam's falling out, because I think that Dean and Bobby still have some lingering issues. Or is that just me? Anyway.

_A Course of Grace and Havoc_

The concrete was finally dry, and Bobby was just about hit the sack when the doorbell rang. Still in an unusually content place, he opened the door- and found only half of what he expected to.

"Hey Bobby," Dean rasped. His eyes were shadowed and his hair was a mess, like he'd been rubbing at it. "'sit cool if I crash here tonight?"

"Since when do you ask permission to couch surf?" Bobby grouched, stepping back to let him in. "Where's the beast, Beauty?"

"He stayed behind. I'll head back for him in a few days." Once the door was locked, Bobby turned to face the new arrival. Standing in the kitchen that he'd been in dozens of times before, Dean looked thoroughly confused, an owl thrust into sunlight. Something was wrong and Bobby knew it, but he also knew full well how to approach things with Dean: indirectly. Until otherwise needed.

"So in the meantime you decided to swing by and oogle my pretty face?"

Dean chuckled weakly- appreciating Bobby's unique sense of tact, no doubt. "Needed to see how your big date went, didn't I? Hey, you uh, you wore your raincoat, right?" Dean wiggled his eyebrows, a ghost of that old mischief skirting briefly over his too-pale face.

"Things we don't discuss 'til you're at least eighteen, son," Bobby dismissed, waving his hand.

"Yeah okay, Pops. Hey, I'm gonna hit the can. I'll be back."

"I'll rustle up some leftover casserole."

"Mmm," Dean agreed, then disappeared. Bobby pulled two plates from the newly dust-free cabinets, and set them on the table. The casserole (still more of the sheriff's delicious handiwork) stayed put in the fridge, however; Bobby had a feeling that these skating niceties were about to end, and he intended to find out exactly what had happened to split up Double Trouble.

Sure enough, Dean never returned to the kitchen, and after giving it a few minutes- in case the delay really was throne-related- Bobby made his way into the living room. Sure enough, there Dean was, standing by the window but looking down at his shoes. His customary jacket and collared shirt were strewn on the sofa, leaving him looking strangely small in just a blank t-shirt.

"Dean?"

No response. Bobby had to call him again before he lifted his head. Even from across the room, it was clear that his cheeks were wet. Bobby felt his heart begin to beat a little faster.

"What happened?"

"I screwed up," Dean said flatly, wiping his face and coughing a little. His pained expression faded to blank. "I'm gonna make a beer run, Bobby, you want anything?"

"Yeeaah." Bobby could hear the intonation in his voice fall and rise, almost comically laden with sarcasm. "I want you to stay right where you are and tell me what the fuck's goin' on."

"I did something I told Sam I wouldn't. Now he's pissed, and I need a drink."

"You _left_ him?"

"Hey, he left me," Dean snapped. "Getting out of the car and not getting back in counts just as much as driving away."

"So you two had a tussle and then you just let him go? What about his, y'know, _hallucinations_?"

"Enough with the guilt, okay, Bobby?" Dean winced. "Sam's a big boy and these past few weeks Lucifer's been hibernating pretty well. If he needs a few days to cool it, I wasn't gonna stop him. Only left him half a mile from the nearest motel. I'll head back in a few days." The way he said it made Bobby feel like Dean was trying to convince himself of that fact more than anything.

"This something to do with the Leviathans?" Bobby guessed, his voice a little softer. "Something come out while the two of them were playing around in your heads?" At Dean's curious look, he added, "yeah. Got me too. Damn thing Freuded the shit out of me before I finally ganked it. These are some extra-special irritating monsters, that's for sure."

Dean stared for just a moment, as though deciding whether or not to traverse that particular path; finally he gave a slow nod.

"Dolly Dean cornered Sam a few minutes before I got to him. Found some shit in my head and decided to share it with the class."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And... what's so damn bad it's got you and Sam sleeping in separate states?"

Dean's face fell just a little more, and Bobby momentarily regretted asking- then shook it off. There were some privileges that came with the responsibility of taking over for John Winchester all those years ago, and receiving full disclosure upon request was one of them. Dean knew that too, and glanced out with window with a deep breath.

"That kitsunai a few weeks back," he began, measuring his words carefully. "She and Sam had a little past, turns out. G-rated, of course. But anyway. She told him that she had given up on the whole murder scene, and the only reason she ganked those few bastards was that her kid was sick. She became a mortician." Dean laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. "She'd been scavenging. But her kid needed fresh brains to live, apparently. But she told Sam it was over.

"And he believed her. Of course he did, big squishy freak. He told me that if I believed him, I'd leave her alone. Told me that I needed to trust him that she was done. And hell, maybe she was. But how could I take that risk?"

Dean wasn't meeting Bobby's eyes anymore. He stared out of the window once again, his profile contorting spasmodically. "So I killed her. And God help me..." Dean's voice broke, and pursed his lips for a moment before continuing. "Her damn kid saw. Her son saw."

The kid- not really a kid by a long shot, Bobby knew, and yet that was the word that came to mind- was fighting almost physically to keep control. And Bobby wanted to say something, anything, but knew better than to stop the wheel once it was rolling.

"So now Sam knows," Dean concluded. "Now Sam knows that not only do I not trust him, I'm not even honest enough to tell him that. How's that for fucked up? I mean, _really_.

"So now, I don't know. I don't know if he's really done with me this time. Hell, I wouldn't blame him if he was. I wouldn't. But I don't know how... if he's done with me, I don't know... he's all I got left." Maybe Dean, through his haze of emotion, still caught Bobby's wince, because he amended, "okay, you and him are all I got left. Sorry. You know." He fell silent.

Bobby did know, and he wasn't about to get prideful about it. He knew full well that Sam was the one thing Dean truly needed; he himself could never be enough. Especially since there was still a little sore spot, between them; he felt it, like poking a bruise, as he came slowly closer. Dean had never fully gotten over Bobby keeping Sam secret for a whole year; and likewise, it wasn't too hard for Bobby to still be pissed about some of the things that Dean had said and done. But he'd said it before, and it still held true; family wasn't about warm 'n' fuzzies. Family was the people that you could knock out one minute and that would still come running if you needed them the next; and vice versa. And Dean needed him now, maybe more than ever, even if nothing he could do would ever be enough, if Sam actually was gone.

"I couldn't do it without him, Bobby," Dean admitted hoarsely. "I just... wouldn't bother, y'know? But the truth is he and I aren't what we used to be. I've lost... so _damn __many_ people. And this is what it felt like. I think I finally lost him too."

By this point, Bobby was just out of arm's reach away, close enough to Dean to see the red shot through his eyeballs, close enough to see the twitch as he clenched his fists as tight as they would go.

"I can't do it anymore, Bobby," Dean muttered, shivering in the warm room. " I-I can't... I miss 'em." His forehead crinkled as his eyes shut painfully tight. "God, I miss 'em."

Them? Who was them? They were talking about much more than Sam, Bobby knew- much more even than how Sam and Dean used to be, before everything. Lisa and Ben? John and Mary? Cas? Knowing Dean it was a little of everything, and some more on the side.

"Dean..." Bobby took that last step forward.

"Don't," Dean rasped, his eyes popping open. "I didn't skin my knee, Bobby. You can't buy me a frickin' teddy bear and kiss my frickin' boo-boo and make it all better. So just... don't."

For half a second, Bobby was stunned into silence. Then, calmly, he reached out, put a hand on Dean's shoulder- and _pushed_ as hard as he could. Even catching him off guard, Bobby couldn't manage to push Dean over. But he sure did stumble, and once he had righted himself he glared up with an almighty frown. "What the hell?"

"Damnit, boy," Bobby growled. "Don't you think I _know_ I can't fix this? Don't you think I know that really _frickin_' well?" Once upon a time, he could at least give it a go- he had so many memories of hazy nights after John had dropped the kids and run off, of Dean padding downstairs, insisting he was only thirsty but visibly aching for a parent's presence. How many of those nights had ended with Bobby next to him on the sofa? Less and less as time went on, of course, but there had been more than a few that Bobby had listened to the crickets go quiet while he sat up, gruffly patting Dean's arm until his sobs turned to sniffles and his sniffles to snores. And the next morning, Dean had always looked maybe a little embarrassed, but always a whole lot brighter.

Back in those years when a dead mother and an up-and-run father seemed like the worst cards that could ever be dealt. Now, horrible as it sounded, that had long since been proven wrong, and no amount of Bobby's clueless pseudo-parenting could make a lick of difference. Well, sue him for trying.

He spoke quietly; a big difference from the outburst of temper seconds before. "Sometimes what you can't fix, you just get used to be being broken," he said. "And get on with things."

"I can't," Dean repeated, new tears swelling up and running down his cheeks. "This isn't one thing broken. This is... my whole fucking life in a scrap pile. I _can't_."

"You can," Bobby growled. "And I'll tell you why, boy. It's cause I've lost a lot of people too. And I am not," he snapped, sticking a finger out for emphasis, "losing you."

Dean just stared at him. He made no sound but continued to shiver while the tears came hard and fast as hellhounds.

And then Bobby did what he knew- what they really both knew- he was going to do all along. He reached out a hand to grab Dean by the scruff of the neck and pull him forwards, then clamped both arms around his shoulders, holding him there.

Dean stayed stock still, and silent. And it wasn't that Bobby wanted to see him lose it- wasn't that he was any good with any sort of schmoopy shit like that. He just knew how badly it was needed.

"Ain't no one here but me, kid," he gruffed, shaking Dean gently. "'n I don't count for nothing."

For a few beats, nothing happened. What came next caught Bobby by surprise even though he'd asked for it. He felt Dean's icy hands on his back, Dean's heavy head on his shoulder as the boy's whole body sort of sagged.

Then, it all came spilling out- loud- _explosive_- and Bobby tightened his grip on Dean's body as he bawled. It was scary to hear- scary to feel- how much he'd been holding back, and worse yet to witness it all finally giving at once. Soon Dean was sobbing so hard that his chest was heaving, and Bobby slid the hand on Dean's neck up just a little bit, until it was just touching his hair- really, _really_ not good at handling things like this and a little bit scared that Dean was breaking so bad he'd never pull back together. The shivering hadn't let up, it had gotten worse; it was more violent now, like the beginnings of a fit.

There was nothing much to do but hang on, try to keep his own heart from breaking at the sounds of guttural wailing. Sometimes, Dean held onto him so tightly that Bobby felt his spine crack; sometimes his arms dropped and he went boneless, and Bobby's knees groaned under the weight of keeping them both standing. Now and then Dean would sniff and swipe at his eyes, but the momentary composure never lasted. A big wet patch was forming in the crook of Bobby's neck, seeping down his back, and he wondered idly just how long a man could cry once he finally got around to it after so long putting it off.

Then, at long last, Dean took a big, shuddery breath, and went still. He lifted his head and pulled out of Bobby's grasp, turning away and wiping tiredly at his face.

Neither of them said anything for a long minute, Bobby still sort of stunned from the whole thing, Dean slouching, exhausted, as though he'd just run a marathon. Bobby was only getting the boy's back for the moment, but he could hear the spent emotion clear as crystal in Dean's gravely voice.

"I think..." Dean croaked, then cleared his throat and tried again. "I think I might hit the sack."

"Sounds like a fine idea," Bobby agreed, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah. Yeah. Bobby..." Dean turned back around and looked Bobby in the eye; his whole face was flushed and puffy, and Bobby tried not to reflect the shock of seeing it. Dean just stared for a minute, like he wanted to say more, but Bobby frowned and nodded, trying to say that he understood- understood whatever it was. Dean nodded in return, smiling weakly, the last of his tears standing stubbornly in his eyes.

"I'll go with you to get Sam, if you want," Bobby said firmly, scared to reopen the issue but even more afraid to end the night with any ambiguity. Sam and Dean- "Sam and Dean" the unit- might have broken at some point along the way, but Bobby would be damned if it was over. And since he did in fact know what it was like to be damned, he was not going to let that happen.

Dean just nodded, too tired to argue. "Okay, Bobby. 'night." Without any further discussion, he ambled from the room.

And as Bobby stared after him, a strange resurgence of the night's previous peace came over him. Dean was right; their lives collectively did pretty well resemble a junk heap, but he realized that one more link had been reforged. It had been over a year- maybe a lot longer, in fact- since he had felt so close to his honorary son. Not to say that that bond hadn't been there, but suddenly that particular slate felt wiped completely clean.

Still staring through the doorway, Bobby's breath caught as an impossibly strong surge of affection overtook him. Wretched though Dean felt- wretched though he felt on Dean's behalf- everything now seemed just a bit more worthwhile.

Bobby shook himself, clearing his head of such musings and getting the blood flowing through his legs again. Between his boys- and yeah, maybe even a certain girl- _damnit_.

He really was going soft.


End file.
